


Resurrection

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt, Hurt / Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months after Dean has been dragged to Hell, you hunt with Sam, continuing to put yourself in harms way. Anything that will take away the pain of losing the man you love. Now, he's risen from the dead, and he's relying on you to help him deal with what he did in Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Go ahead. Underestimate me. I dare you." Your fingers flex around the handle of the machete. Having been dipped in dead man's blood, it would poison the vampire the moment her skin was broken.

She sneers, exposing a row of razor sharp teeth. "You think you're bad ass, don't you?"

The muscles between your shoulder blades are rigid. The nest had been infiltrated easily enough. The vampires that lay at your feet were freshly turned, less than a month judging by the amount of bodies that had been showing up at the morgue. Now, only one remained. The ring leader was standing in front of you. She was older, more experienced than her fallen brethren, but that didn't mean much. Not when she was facing a hunter of your caliber.

You arch a brow as you twirl the blade expertly at your side. "I don't want to brag, but yeah."

"Allow me to put you in your place."

This moment right here is what gets your blood pumping. You love the rush of adrenaline, the way it makes you feel. All of your senses are heightened, your hunting instincts kick into overdrive until there are no more bad guys, until they're lying dead at your feet. And then, when the effects have worn off, you're left wanting more. You crave the next rush, the next hunt, the next kill, the next injury.

"You think you're the first one to try?"

Something metallic is suddenly in her hand. Its sharp edge shines in the moonlight. "No, but I'll be the first to succeed." The muscles in her forearms twitch, signaling she's ready to pounce.

You bend your knees, and dive out of the way as she pushes off the ground. The hiss of her teeth is close enough to your ear that you should feel scared. But you don't, and that alone should scare you.

Clumps of mud fly through the air as she skids to a stop on her heels.

You use the blade to anchor yourself by thrusting the blade into the mud, and spinning around on your knees until you're facing the abomination. You jump to your feet as frustration flashes across her face as she hisses again. "What was that about succeeding?"

The vampire pushes off the ground, sending a wave of mud against the wall as she flies through the air.

You're ready, again. You swing the blade over your head as you fall to your knees. The blade slides easily into her stomach, sending a wave of blood down your back.

She lands with a wet smack, and groans angrily. "You bitch!"

Standing, you stare at the blade. The dead man's blood had been stripped away when you used it as an anchor. Not all of it, but most had been replaced with the wet earth. Despite your best intentions, the wound was not fatal. "Oh, quit your whining."

She stands slowly, panting heavily as the wound starts to heal itself. She runs a hand over her torn shirt. "That was my favorite shirt."

You shrug, rolling your eyes. "Enough chit-chat, princess. Let's get on with this."

"Eager to die?"

"Something like that."

You don't dive out of the way the third time the vampire advances. Rather, you meet her in the middle, rushing toward the blur of fangs. Your ears ring with the clang of metal as your weapons collide.

You manage to hold her off for a while, even getting in a few good hits, but even though you have years of hunting to fall back on, you are only human. The muscles in your back scream in protest when she spins, and grabs your right wrist. She uses every ounce of her supernatural strength, and wrenches your arm behind your back. Your weapon falls to the ground as a sickening pop echoes in your ear; she's dislocated your shoulder.

You hiss a curse through your teeth.

Her breath is hot against your exposed neck, and you fight a shudder when she moans in delight at the smell of the blood rushing through your veins. She chuckles low in her throat. "What is it you were saying about being killing me?"

It's true, you spouted off something about severing her head, watching it bounce like a basketball, but you couldn't remember the exact quote at the moment. You arch your back when she puts more strain on your injured arm, a futile effort in trying to relieve some of the pressure.

The blade in her other hand scrapes over your neck. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

"You're not the only one."

She doesn't have time to question what you just said. In your back pocket is a syringe full of dead man's blood. It's in your hand before the blade against your skin twitches. You shove the needle into her thigh and push on the plunger, sending the vial of poison through her nervous system.

Her body bucks in an effort to stop you. There's a sharp pain in your neck before she releases you. You bite your bottom lip as your mind registers another wound. Blood oozes down your neck, clinging to the collar of your shirt.

With your good arm, you retrieve your weapon, and raise it over your head. Even though she's writing in pain, dying from the poisoned blood, she's cursing you and your family. With a shake of your head, you bring the blade down and cut off her head with a loud grunt.

The task ahead of you is daunting; destroying a nest of dead vampires with one arm. You manage to dump the gasoline on the bodies without too much splashing onto your shoes. Your favorite heeled boots. The heel was only an inch, but they were comfortable. They should be. You've spent the last five years wearing them.

Satisfied the bodies would burn to ash, you trail the gasoline out of the building. With the empty container secured in the trunk, you somehow manage to retrieve the zippo lighter from your pocket, the same side of your injured shoulder. You drop the lighter into the fuel, and watch the flames dance along the path until they reach the bodies. You watch the fire as it grows, devouring the building, along with the bodies, until all the walls have fallen, and the only remnants are embers glowing off ends of charred wood.

* * *

The plaid wearing hunter whirls around on his heel when you all but kick the door open. You feel the weight of his gaze as he looks you over, assessing the damage done, how much work you need.

The door is closed with another kick. You grimace as the movement jars your shoulder. After you drop your bag on the table, you run a hand over your mud-splattered face. "Hiya, Sammy."

"The hell have you been?" His voice is thick with anger, and frustration.

"Not this again, Sam, please." You're tired. All the adrenaline that pumped through your veins has taken its toll.

He is towering over you in the blink of an eye, his long legs having eaten up the space like it was nothing. "How am I supposed to watch over you –"

You glare up at him. "You don't need to watch over me! God, Sam! I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself!"

It's then he notices your right arm hasn't moved. He sighs roughly as he pulls out a chair. "Sit."

"Sam."

A long finger points at you, and then the chair. "I said, sit."

You know better than to argue with him. Your shoulder is screaming in agony every time you move. There's no way you can put it back by yourself.

He hands you a bottle of whiskey and waits until you're done drinking before handing you one of your leather belts. It's been folded twice. You place it between your teeth and bite down.

With your eyes clamped shut, you don't see him reach for your hand, or place a hand into the hollow of your armpit for leverage. You only feel the dull ache flare to life as he raises your arm, and simultaneously pushes against your body while pulling your arm. The pain is white hot, and searing as your bones rub together, moving to sit as they are supposed to. The muscles scream in agony after having been stretched beyond their limits.

The belt falls from your mouth as your forehead slams into the table. With shuddering breaths, you blindly fumble in your bag for the orange bottle of pain pills. The ones that were prescribed to Dean. The whiskey burns a trail down your chest as you swallow the large pills.

You don't have to open your eyes to know the look on Sam's face. He's worried about you. If you were in his shoes, you'd be worried about you, too. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm worried."

"I know you are. But, you don't have to be, Sam. I'm fine." You're the farthest thing from fine.

He pulls in a deep breath when your eyes meet. "You've got a great poker face."

"I learned from the best." You toss your head back, and drink.

Even after the bottle comes to a rest on the table, you don't say anything. Neither does Sam. You begin to grow restless under the weight of his gaze until you can't take it anymore. "What?"

Any anger he had displayed earlier has vanished. His hands are clasped together on the table. "Why do you do this?"

"Do what? Kill monsters? I'm a hunter, Sam. It's what we do."

He shakes his head, long hair falling onto his forehead. "No, it's more than that. Ever since Dean died –"

You push away from the table, sending the chair toppling to the floor. "Don't. Just… don't, Sam."

"Why not? Why can't we talk about _my_ brother?"

You grind your teeth to try to keep from crying, hoping the pain that shoots through your jaw is enough to hold the tears at bay for a little longer. "Because I can't, ok? It… it hurts too much."

It's been four months since the Hellhounds tore Dean apart in front of you, and this is the most you've talked about it. You can't bring yourself to talk about it, let alone think about it. Especially with Sam. Dean traded his soul for his younger brother, and not a day goes by that you don't wish it was Sam instead of Dean.

Seeing the look on your face, he stands from the table. "Tell me."

You shake your head. "I can't. I don't want to. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to be here without him. I don't want to live without him, Sam." The attempt to keep your tears behind the dam has failed. They've broken free, and now there's no stopping them.

"You ask why I go out and hunt, recklessly, as you put it. You want to know why? Because the injuries I get... they help take my mind off the pain of missing him, even if for just a minute. It's a minute I don't spend missing him. It's time not spent remembering how it felt to be held, and kissed, and loved by him. I hunt, away from you, because I'm so angry. Sam... I wish… I… "

When the next words fail to be spoken, he stands in front of you. "You wish it were me."

You choke on a sob, and nod in agreement. "YES! I wish he hadn't traded his soul for yours."

His arms are suddenly around you, pulling you into his chest. You fight, trying to push him away, but he is so much stronger than you. You give in, gripping his shoulder blades instead of hitting him, and weep into his chest. His words are hard to hear through your hair. "I wish it were me, too."

You lose track of time as Sam holds you. His shirt is wet with your tears, and you feel like you would collapse if he were to let you go.

He is smiling softly when he looks down at you. Before he can say anything, there's a knock at the door.

"Probably the manager." The walls of the motel were thin. You wouldn't doubt it if a neighbor complained about the yelling and crying.

"Go get cleaned up, I'll take care of it."

You're in the bathroom when he opens the door. With the cold water running full blast, you can't hear any voices, not even the ones in the depths of your mind. You have to admit you feel better, lighter almost. Not like the entire weight of loss is gone, but it doesn't feel like it's going to crush you.

With the water turned off, you hear raised voices. You throw open the door, expecting to see some fat, old manager arguing with Sam, but that's not who was at the door. You're thrown off balance by the sight of someone you buried four months ago. The floor shifts beneath your feet when a pair of piercing green eyes meet yours.

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Hey."

You shake your head. No, this can't be happening. It's got to be another dream. You've had this one numerous times, and they all turn out the same. You jump out of bed, drenched in sweat and cry out his name only to have Sam be the one to grab your hand, to talk you down, to bring you back to reality.

Bobby is suddenly at your side. "It's him, kid. It's _really_ him."

Any coherent thought is sucked from your brain the moment Dean stands in front of you. Calloused hands that you had memorized reach out for you, but you jump back as if he's struck you.

He swallows hard, holding up his hands in a non-threatening matter. "It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you."

"B-Bobby?"

The older hunter gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We've done all the tests. It's ok, really."

One moment you're mourning Dean. Wishing you could have just one more minute with the man you love, wishing his brother was in hell instead of him, and the next, he's standing in front of you, very much alive. You reach out to him, cautiously, and explore his hands, arms, shoulders, and face before you accept that it's him; really him, and not some demon, shape shifting version of him.

He has you wrapped in his arms before you can blink. You're pressing kisses into his neck, and along his stubbled jaw until you reach his mouth. His lips as soft and full as you remember, as you dreamt about. By the time you pull back, your face is damp with tears for the second time tonight.

He leans into the hand you have pressed against his cheek, letting his eyes flutter closed briefly. "God, I missed you."

"It's ok, you're here now."


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn't sleep at night. Not that he ever really did, but it was better before he was pulled from Hell. Before, four hours of sleep would get him through. Now it's only an hour here or there, but nothing more. He won't talk about it, not to you, and certainly not to his brother. Bottling his emotions inside just like his daddy taught him.

You don't tell him, but you know why he doesn't sleep. It's the nightmares. They've plagued him since the very first night. He twitches, and writhes, waking up in a sweaty mess of sheets, and is usually calling out for you or Sammy. Knowing how he would react, you feign sleep, pretend that nothing is happening around you, and wait for the bed to shift as he stands.

He's also different with you. There's less touching, kissing, smiling, and laughing. Not that he was completely carefree before, but… he's changed so much. You want to ask him about it, beg him to talk to you, but you know how that conversation will go.

_"There's nothing wrong with me, I'm fine."_

His answer for everything. You should make him a t-shirt.

You watch as he nurses a bottle of beer, his fifth, not that you're counting. Now, it's not like you don't do your fair share of drinking, but his consumption has reached another level than before. You're worried, and Sam notices. Of course he does.

"He'll be ok."

"How can you say that?"

Sam shrugs, glancing at his older brother. "Because he always is."

You swallow the amber liquid hungrily. "I'm not so sure that he will be this time."

His brow furrows as he toys with the bottle between his fingers. "What aren't you telling me?"

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You've said too much already. If Dean knew you were talking about him behind his back, especially about his feelings, he wouldn't talk to you for a week. "Nothing."

He checks the bar, making sure his brother is still perched on the stool before he grabs your wrist. "No, don't do this."

The pulse beneath his fingers quickens. "You know how he is, Sam. I… I shouldn't have said anything." You wrench your wrist away just in time.

Dean turns in his seat, and raises his bottle in salute. He slides a bill across the bar before strutting to the booth you're sharing with his brother. Even though you slide over, making room for him, Dean sits next to Sam. "What's the word?"

This isn't the first time he's ignored you in front of Sam. He arches a brow at his brother. "Nothing. Haven't heard anything from Bobby or Cas."

Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel, the angel that pulled him from perdition seems to have made it his mission to make Dean's life a living He- crazy. "Forget the angel."

You're quick to come to his defense. If it weren't for him, Dean would still be in Hell, doing God knows what. "Don't say that, Dean. He saved you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Doesn't mean I trust him."

If you didn't love this man so much, you would probably reach across the table and slap him. "Aaaand on that note, goodnight."

"Where you going?"

"Bed. We just got done dealing with Anna, and Uriel. Not to mention driving through two states. I'm tired, Dean." _You waking up screaming doesn't help, either._

"But babe-," Dean motions between Sam and himself, "we just got here."

You shake your head after you set your freshly empty bottle on the table. "No, we've been here for two hours."

"No we haven't."

Sam shows Dean his cell phone. "Dude."

After Dean runs a hand over his face, he quickly finishes his beer. "Let me walk you."

"I got it."

"It's late."

"And I can handle myself, thank you." Sam's eyes have dropped to his hands, desperate to not be involved in this conversation. You tap the table to get his attention. "Goodnight, Sammy."

He nods curtly before brushing some hair out of his eyes. "Goodnight."

* * *

Try as you might, sleep doesn't come as easily as you hoped. Partly because you can't stop thinking about Dean. The last time he slept, he shouted something that chilled your blood.

_"Don't make me do it. Don't make me cut her. Anyone but her."_

You shift to your side. Lying with your back to the door as it creaks open. He tries to be quiet as he maneuvers around the dark room, but he seems to have forgotten the table got moved. He grinds out a curse after walking into it.

You don't move. Not even when he sits down on his side of the bed.

He sighs heavily after kicking off his boots. When he doesn't move to take off his clothes, or lie down, you roll to your back.

The moonlight is resting on him. His head is hanging down, eyelashes casting a shadow onto his cheeks.

"Babe?"

He sighs your name. "Aren't you curious?"

 _Here we go._ You push up from your spot, and lean back against the headboard. "Dean, I'm damn curious. But you're not talking about Hell, and I'm not pushing."

He turns his head, but doesn't make eye contact. "It wasn't four months, you know."

"What?" _How could it not be four months?_

He pulls in a shuddering breath. "It was four months up here, but down there... I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years."

It's worse than you thought. "My God. "

He's having a hard time keeping it together. He's barely holding back tears, and it's killing you. "They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The - the things that I did to them. The things I did to you."

Your stomach rolls at the images that stroll through your mind, knowing that what he experienced was 1,000,000% worse. "To me?" You want to know, but at the same time, you really, _really_ don't.

He wipes at his face with an embarrassed groan. He always hated it when you saw him cry. "Alistair… he made the souls look like you. Every single one of them. And at first, I didn't… I couldn't do it, but he gave me a choice. It was you or it was Sammy. And I just… I… not to Sammy."

You choke on a sob. "It's ok."

It's then he meets your eyes. "How can you say that? I sliced you open. Over, and over, and over again. I felt your blood on my hands, your muscles were at my fingertips."

"It wasn't me."

"I gave in... I did what Alistair wanted. I... God, I enjoyed it."

"Dean, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have, myself included."

He shakes his head. You can almost hear the internal argument he's having with himself. "How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

You grab his face, forcing him to look at you. "Dean... you and me, together, we can get through this." When he tries to move away, you tighten your grip until he groans. "No, I mean it, Dean. I will do whatever it takes to help you get through this, but you can't shut me out. Not anymore. No more ignoring me, enough with the keeping your distance bullshit, you hear me? What you did in Hell, I can't even begin to understand. Just... just don't shut me out anymore, please."

His eyes search yours as if they'll confirm you're telling the truth, you hope he sees that you are. He must see what he needs, because he pushes his chin down once. His voice is tight, and rough. "Ok."


	3. Chapter 3

"We have Alastair."

You stare in disbelief at the blue-eyed Angel. Alistair. The demon that tortured Dean, and in turn, made Dean torture, had been captured by the Angels.

"Great. He should be able to name your trigger man."

"But he won't talk. Alastair's will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse." Even Castiel, the always serious, _I don't understand that reference_ , sounds frustrated.

Dean bristles visibly. "Yeah, well, he's like a black belt in torture. I mean, you guys are out of your league."

Uriel's dark eyes fall upon the hunter. "That's why we've come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got."

Your heart thunders against your chest. "Wait a sec, what _exactly_ are you asking?"

When Dean looks down, you slide your hand in his, tangling your fingers together.

Castiel looks pleadingly at the hunter you're clinging to. "Dean, you are our best hope."

He meets the Angel's gaze, his eyes hard, and angry. "No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this."

Uriel walks around Cas, and stands in front of the pair of you. "Who said anything about asking?"

The sound of feathers rustling echoes in your ears as you're transported. Your stomach somersaults, threatening to get rid of your drive-thru dinner. Surrounded by concrete walls rather than a tacky wallpaper, you bend at the waist, and try to keep from throwing up.

Dean runs his hand along your spine. Once it reaches the back of your neck, it stills, shaking for a reason you don't know. You stand quickly, the weight of his hand falling to the small of your back. A knot forms in your stomach when you see a man. He is visible through a window in a door, chained to a hexacle that's standing in the middle of a devil's trap.

Castiel's voice is flat. "This devil's trap is old Enochian. He's bound completely."

"Fascinating." Dean turns away from the door that separates the four of you from the demon. "Where's the door?"

"Where are you going?"

"Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much." Dean tangles his hand in yours, and pulls you with him; stopping abruptly when Uriel blocks the exit.

"Angels are dying, boy." His tone is all business. Then again, that's all the Angels seem to be.

"Everybody's dying these days. And hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this." His hand grips yours hard enough that it hurts, but you don't pull away.

"This is too much to ask, _I_ know. But we have to ask it."

Dean watches Castiel before turning his attention back to Uriel. "I want to talk to Cas alone."

"I think I'll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders."

"Well, get some donuts while you're out."

Uriel's laugh is like velvet being rubbed inside your head. "Ah, this one just won't quit, will he? I think I'm starting to like you, boy."

The pair of you watch Uriel vanish. "You guys don't walk enough. You're gonna get flabby." Despite the joke, Dean's voice is void of any humor.

When Castiel doesn't react, Dean shuffles on his feet. "You know, I'm starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do."

"Uriel's the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone."

It's then that Dean loosens his grip on you. He steps up to the Angel. "What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies."

With your arms crossed over your stomach, you stand next to Dean. "Your sympathies?"

Castiel's bright eyes dart from Dean to you. "I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment."

"Well, tell Uriel, or whoever... you do not want me doing this, trust me."

The Angel's attention is back on Dean. "Want it, no. But I have been told we need it."

"You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."

"For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this."

You've held your tongue long enough. "Are you kidding me, right now?"

Two pairs of eyes are on you in a heartbeat. You point a finger at Castiel. "How can you even ask this of him? Do you even _know_ what he has been through with… with… with _HIM_?!"

"Of course I know what Dean has done."

"Then you would know what _it_ has done to _him_!"

Castiel's brows knit together. "I do not-"

"Don't you _dare_ say that you don't understand, don't do it. I swear to God, Cas." You swipe a hand over your face, and up into your hair. All you see are wide, blue eyes that are full of confusion.

Your name falls from his lips. "Swearing to God isn't going to help."

You lunge at him then, with hands balled into fists, and more than enough momentum to lay the Angel flat on his ass.

The only thing stopping you is Dean's arms around your waist. Even though you're kicking, anxious to get your hands on Castiel, Dean has no problem carrying you across the room.

He sets you down, and forces you to look up at him. "That won't help."

"But it'll make me feel better." You can feel your nails bite into your skin.

He sighs heavily, his shoulders droop as if burdened by a weight too heavy to carry. "I have to do this."

"No. No you don't. You don't _have_ to do anything you don't want to. Screw them. Screw what _they_ want. Screw their orders!" You're a little surprised at just how angry this is making you. Do they honestly not understand what this will do to him?

Dean closes his eyes, his hands automatically find yours, and pry them open. He presses his palms against yours, tangling your fingers together. He lowers his head until your foreheads meet. "I'll have Cas take you back."

"No. I'm staying here." You squeeze his hands as if that will change his mind.

"I can't do what's needed if you're here. Please." His voice is thick as he works his hands loose. He doesn't meet your eyes.

The man in front of you blurs as tears spring to life. "No. I – I'll stay out here. Dean, please. Don't make me –"

Everything around you changes before you can even blink. Dean is gone. As are the concrete floor, walls, and the demon strapped down in the next room. You're not even in the crappy, cheap motel room. Tall grass rustles as you struggle in the iron grip of the Angel you're on the verge of hating.

Castiel releases you, his hands held out as if preparing for an attack. "I am sorry. Truly, I am."

"Get out of my sight, Cas."

When he doesn't vanish immediately, you unsheathe a hidden blade, and take a defensive stance. The moonlight shines off the only blade that can kill the Higher Being.

You swallow hard, flexing your hands around the hilt. "Now."

He dips his head before disappearing. The sound of feathers on the breeze is the only sign that you weren't alone a moment ago.

Your hands shake as you slide the blade into the sleeve of your leather jacket, snapping the buttons quickly. You had sewn them in the moment Dean got his hands on a couple, always be prepared; never know when you might need them. Not that you _really_ wanted to kill an Angel of the Lord, but after what just happened, after what they asked of Dean, you wanted nothing more than to smite them.

The phone in your back pocket buzzes suddenly. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, you answer, and assume it's the hunter that just sent you away.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice is on the other end. "Where the hell are you?"

You lick your lips as you turn in a slow circle. "I… I don't know."

"How can you not… forget it. Stay on the line, I'll ping your phone."

"Ping Dean's."

You can hear Sam swallow. "Is he… he's not with you?"

"You think I would tell you to ping his phone if he were with me, Sam? Just do it!"

"Alright, alright."

You spy a road, and start walking toward it as Sam works furiously on his laptop.

"Shit. There's nothing. How can there be nothing?"

"It's gotta be Uriel and Cas. I bet they're blocking the signal. Sam, he agreed."

Sam curses again before smacking the phone on his forehead. He's talking through his teeth when you hear his voice next. "I'll kill him."

You can't help but chuckle. "I already tried."

The tapping of fingers on a keyboard is the only thing you hear until Sam clears his throat. "You're just outside Cheyenne, I'll be there in 10."

There's no goodbye as Sam disconnects the call.

Your mind races as you wait. You know what Dean did in Hell, you know that he's going to make Alistair suffer in every way possible, and you know that Dean is going to try not to enjoy it. You also know that deep down, Dean will revel in it, doing what he does best; spilling blood. What you don't know is if this will be the straw that breaks the camel back. Will you get Dean back from this? Will he be able to recover or will he be lost forever?


	4. Chapter 4

You climb into the Impala, not even waiting for it to come to a complete stop. Tires squeal on the asphalt as Sam tears off, turning around impressively on the small side road. His hand flexes around the steering wheel in time with his jaw.

"Ease up, Winchester. You're gonna crack a tooth. Or the steering wheel. I think you know which one Dean'll be more pissed about."

Hazel eyes burn into yours. "How can you be calm right now?"

You turn in your seat, arching a brow as you cross your arms over your stomach. "You think I'm calm? I about shoved an Angel blade into Cas's cranium, I'd say I'm anything but calm."

He mutters something that resembles an apology while turning his attention back to the road. It was basically empty, just the pair of you in the Impala, and a few cars every ½ mile or so.

After a long couple of minutes, Sam talks without anger holding his voice captive. "I… I think we should call Ruby."

After having just gotten comfortable, you spin in your seat, and stare hard at the hunter. "Excuse me?"

He clears his throat. "Ruby. She might be able to find out where they're hiding Dean."

"If you think for one second that I'm going to let that black-eyed bitch help…"

He says your name roughly. "Please. I don't know of any other way. The Angels won't help us, not when they're the ones behind the abduction, and I don't know any spells to counter anything they might have come up with. I don't think we have a choice."

It's your turn to grind your teeth in anger. Your hands hurt, but that probably has something to do with the fact that they're balled into fists, and your nails are digging into your palms. "I don't like it, Sam."

"You don't have to like it." He glances at you from the corner of his eye as he drives.

You wait until he shifts the car into park in the motel parking lot before you give your answer. "Fine, but if steps one toe out of line, I'm sending her ass back to Hell."

* * *

There's a hard knock on the door. Sam opens it to reveal a pretty little brunette.

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I can still smell them. Seriously, Sam, I'm not exactly dying to tangle with angels again."

Sam stands to the side, opening the door wider. "We need you to find out where they took Dean."

Ruby glances around the room, and finds you staring at her from a dark corner. "Not sure I see the problem. You know they have Alastair strung up six ways from Sunday. Dean cuts himself a slice, Al's reduced to a quivering heap, and the good guys get the goods. What's wrong with that?"

Your voice is louder than you intended. "He can't do it."

"Look, I get it. You don't want him going all torture master again."

Standing from the chair, you don't bother hiding the Angel blade that's gripped in your hand. Not only do they kill Angels, but they also have the ability to kill demons. "No. I mean, he can't do it. He can't get the job done. Something happened to him, Ruby. He's not what he used to be. He's not strong enough."

"And you think you are?"

You're across the room, and pinning the demon to the wall before anyone can blink. The blade is pressed against her throat just hard enough that a drop of blood slides down her neck. "Listen here, you demon bitch, you'll help us find Dean or so help me, I'll shove this so far into your head, they'll be cleaning up demon brain for the next year!"

* * *

Ruby chants, eyes black as the night, as she holds a lit candle to the corner of a map.

The pair of you watch as the fire spreads around the edges.

"Relax. The fire is our friend. Besides, the only part of the map we need is the 'where's Dean?' part." With a wave of her hand the flames vanish. The map is charred to unreadability; a small circle in the middle is untouched.

She points with a smug smirk. "There. Dean's there. It's a good thing angels aren't concerned with hiding their dirty business. Not used to being spied on. I mean, who'd be stupid enough to try?"

You grab the map, and the keys to the Impala. "Sam, let's go."

He shakes his head once. "I'm right behind you."

You narrow your eyes, flicking them from the hunter to the demon, and back again. "Whatever, Sam." You've known for a while that there is more going on between them than just an alliance, Sam admitted it. You just don't care enough to put getting to Dean on the back burner.

After diving into Dean's baby, you slam the car into gear, and tear out of the parking lot.

* * *

You burst into the warehouse, Angel blade in hand, and breathing heavily.

Castiel's eyes are on you, wide, and inquisitive. "How did you find this place?"

"You really don't want to know, Cas. Now, get out of the way."

He stands in front of the door that Dean is behind. You know he's torturing because you can hear the demon screaming.

"I mean it, _Angel_ , get out of the way." Disdain drips off your every word.

He shakes his head, and holds out his hands. "I am sorry, I cannot do that."

"Damn it, Cas. Don't make me do this. I really don't want to kill you."

Confusion washes over his face. "Then why are you making threats to do so?"

Alistair gives a shudder-inducing screech, and your body reacts as it should, scattering goose bumps all over your body. You swallow hard at the lump in your throat. "Cas, please!"

Suddenly, the room behind Cas goes quiet. There are no more screams of agony, no more sounds of demonic skin burning, and it turns your stomach.

By the time you convince Cas to open the door, and intervene, Dean is covered in blood. His face is littered with cuts, and brusies.

Alistair has Dean pinned against the hexacle, his boots dangling helplessly several feet off the floor. His face is purple, all oxygen cut off by the iron grip of the demon that has somehow broken free of the trap etched in Enochian.

"You got a lot to learn, boy. So I'll see you back in class bright and early Monday morning."

Your voice echoes in the dungeon-like room. "HEY! Put him down!"

Alastair turns around to see you and Castiel behind him, the Angel is wielding Ruby's knife. Dean is released so Alistair can focus on Cas, who doesn't move. With graceful speed, Cas stabs Alistair in the heart. The injury sparks gold light, but not as much as when it kills.

You press against the wall, hoping to slide over to Dean unnoticed. You don't like the fact that he doesn't appear to be breathing properly.

Alistair smirks at the Angel. "Well, almost. Looks like God is on my side today."

Cas lifts a hand, using his power to twist the knife. Alastair grunts in pain and pulls out the knife, before tossing it away, and charges Cas. They collide, grunting loudly from the impact.

Alistair slams Cas against the wall, choking him.

After a quick check of Dean's thready pulse, you push off the ground, and grab the demon knife from the floor. With a primal scream, you throw yourself onto Alistair's back, and stab him; again and again.

His laugh vibrates against your chest, as he reaches over his shoulder, and grabs you by the back of the neck. As if you weighed nothing, he throws you away from him. You smack against the wall with a sickening thud, and fall next to Dean.

Darkness, and stars litter your vision. With a groan, you try to push off the floor, but the pain at the base of your skull roars to life. Your stomach rolls as the room shifts beneath you.

"You're like roaches, you celestials. Now, I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to heaven." Alastair begins to chant in Latin. A bright, blue light appears in the Angel's eyes and mouth.

Just when you think Castiel won't walk away from this, Alastair stops abruptly, chokes, and is slammed against the wall.

Sam enters the room with one hand raised. With his grace damaged, and struggling to breath, Cas slumps to the ground.

Alistair snarls at Sam. "Stupid pet tricks."

"Who's murdering the angels? How are they doing it?"

"You think I'm gonna tell you?"

Sam smiles wickedly. "Yeah, I do." He twists his hand, and Alastairs's eyes roll white as he chokes.

"How are the demons killing angels?"

Alistair struggled against the unseen force. "I don't know."

The younger Winchester scoffs. "Right."

"It's not us. We're not doing it." His tone is desperate, and tight.

"I don't believe you."

"Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand."

Sam stops at the revelation.

You manage to push off the floor, your arms shake hard enough that it takes everything not to fall down again. "Sam... stop, please."

Alistair chuckles. "Oh, go ahead. Send me back, if you can."

Confidence flows off the hunter in waves. "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill." He holds out his hand, and concentrates. Gold light flares inside Alastair as he screams. The torture lasts only a moment before the body falls to the floor, completely void of the demon.

* * *

Dean is in bed, heavily bandaged with a breathing tube, and an IV drip. You and Sam sit next to the bed, your hand tangled with the injured hunter.

Cas appears at the doorway, and pauses before continuing down the hallway. silently beckoning the two of you follow him.

Halfway down the hall, Cas stops abruptly, turning to face you, and Sam. He opens his mouth to say your name, but you don't let him get that far.

"Get in there and heal him. Miracle. Now." Your concussion reminds you it's there, and the Angel of front of you wavers.

"I can't."

Sam bristles visibly. "You and Uriel put him in there-"

"No."

"—because you can't keep a simple devil's trap together."

Cas shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "I don't know what happened. That trap...it shouldn't have broken. I am sorry."

You can feel your blood boil. "You're sorry? That's all you've got, you're sorry?"

"This whole thing was pointless. You understand that? The demons aren't doing the hits. Something else is killing your soldiers."

"Perhaps Alastair was lying."

You shake your head, big mistake. You grab Sam's arm to steady yourself. "No, he wasn't."

The conversation has become pointless. You tug on Sam's arm as you turn away from Cas. "Come on, Sam, let's go."

* * *

You haven't left Dean's side, and just because Cas wants to talk to him alone, doesn't mean it's going to happen. You cross your arms, and shoot daggers at the Angel.

"Are you all right?"

Dean's voice is ragged, as if he's gargled with rocks. "No thanks to you."

"You need to be more careful."

"You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap."

"That's not what I mean. Uriel is dead."

You and Dean exchange a disbelieving look. "Was it the demons?"

Cas still won't meet your gaze, not since the other night. "It was disobedience. He was working against us."

"Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?" Dean had told you what Alistair had confessed while being tortured. You desperately didn't want to believe it, demons lie all the time. Why was this time any different?

"Yes. When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you—"

"Jump-started the apocalypse."

"And we were too late."

"Why didn't you just leave me there, then?"

"It's not blame that falls on you, Dean, it's fate. The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it."

The harsh laugh you had been trying to keep bottled inside, slips out. "Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean? "

Dean glares at Cas as he stands up from the chair. "Hey! Don't you go disappearing on us, you son of a bitch. What does that mean!"

"I don't know."

"Bull."

"I don't. Dean, they don't tell me much. I know our fate rests with you."

"Well, then you guys are screwed. I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not—I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me."

It's when Dean begins to cry, that you push away from the wall. "Get out, Cas."

He looks at you with those wide, sad eyes. "I am sorry."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn. Cas... I just don't." You scrape a hand over your face, and groan in frustration.

Feathers rustle, indicating that the Angel has left you alone with Dean. He turns away so you can't see him cry.

Ignoring his protests, you climb into the small hospital bed, and wrap your arms around his shoulders as best as you can, given the amount of wires coming out the top of his hospital gown. He melts against your chest, wraps his arms around your waist, and holds onto you with the iron grip that came as a result of years of turning wrenches, and hunting.

You want to tell him that it will be ok, that you will survive this, just as you've survived everything over the years. But deep down, you know the truth, and for the first time in your life, you're properly scared.


End file.
